


Beacon Hills En Pointe

by Moit



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Human, Ballet, Ballet-related blood and injury, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Desk Sex, F/M, M/M, Pre-Slash, Slash, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, Speculations of violence, Threats
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 02:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2007972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moit/pseuds/Moit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beacon Ballet's season begins with a new artistic director, Derek Hale, a retired dancer. He's the ex-boyfriend of the company's prima ballerina, Kate Argent, and that, among other things, has convinced Stiles Stilinski, a soloist, that Derek is trying to find a reason to fire him. </p><p>There's already bad blood between Derek and Kate due to an accident that befell his older sister, Laura, but Kate seems content to put that all behind them. She's not going to let anything get in her way, certainly not a young little upstart like Stiles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooookay. This is going to be a long note. First of all, this fic was inspired by an anon Tumblr prompt that actually asked for smut between Derek/Stiles and potentially Cora. But this happened. It's going to be a long, slow burn with eventual Sterek. Along the way, there will be a plot (gasp!) and I'll add warnings/tags/characters as we go. 
> 
> I'm screwing with ages and family trees to make this work. (The most important change is that Malia is not related to the Hales. She's just a Tate.)
> 
> For those of you unfamiliar with a ballet company, I offer this explanation of the hierarchy: 
> 
> Artistic Director  
> Ballet Master/Ballet Mistress (day to day choreographers)  
> Principal dancers  
> Soloists  
> Demi-Soloists  
> Corps dancers
> 
> At the end of this chapter, I'll give a recap with who fits where so I have an opportunity to introduce them first.
> 
> And before anyone asks, yes, I have based this *very* loosely on Breaking Pointe, the reality show about Ballet West in Salt Lake City. Any likeness to real people or situations is completely unintentional and coincidental. 
> 
> If you have any questions, please let me know in the comments. This was betaed by the ever-loving [Naemi](http://archiveofourown.org/users/naemi).

The company assembled in the main theatre for the introduction of their new artistic director. The previous director, Deucalion, had retired from the business after many years. His dancing career had ended before most of his dancers were born, and the cataracts in his eyes made it difficult to see the stage these days, so no one was surprised when he left. Some of the younger company members speculated that someone would be promoted from within, but the senior dancers knew better—Beacon Ballet wanted to bring in new talent.

 

The man who appeared on the stage was certainly that: Derek Hale had retired from dancing at the tender age of 33 after suffering a torn meniscus. He had been a principal at the New York Ballet for nearly 10 years.

 

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Derek Hale. As the new artistic director at Beacon Ballet, I will be spending the first few weeks of my tenure observing. I hope to get to know all of you soon.” He clapped his hands together. “For now, let’s get to class. Afterwards, we will begin the audition process for our first fall production: La Bayadere.”

 

A round of applause followed the announcement; afterwards, Derek dismissed them.

 

“What do you guys think of him?” Kira, the youngest of the demi-soloists asked her friends.

 

Cora spoke up first. “He’s my brother.”

 

“Derek _Hale_ is your brother?” Erica exclaimed. “You never though this was important to mention?”

 

“After I got married and changed my name to Greenberg, we sort of stopped talking. Derek doesn’t exactly get along with my husband.”

 

“Girl, you have got to catch us up.” Erica took her by the elbow and ushered her upstairs, Kira following as quickly as she could.

 

Behind them, the soloists followed at a more sedate pace.

 

“Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally be promoted to principal,” Stiles said.

 

“Could be,” Isaac said encouragingly. “Kate can’t dance forever.”

 

“And that would leave me with Lydia.”

 

“Actually, that would leave you, Scott, and Jackson with Lydia,” Boyd pointed out.

 

Stiles pinned him with a look. “Can you just not? I was having a great moment. Besides, who’s to say that they won’t hire three more female soloists from outside the company and need more male principals?”

 

“It could happen,” Allison chirped, nodding her head in agreement.

 

“You always were my favorite, Allie,” Stiles said, sliding a hand around her waist as they ascended the stairs.

 

 

Derek entered the studio during class; he walked around, making adjustments and commenting on technique. When he got to Stiles, however, his critique appeared to be never-ending.

 

“Point your toe . . . lift your chin . . . relax your shoulders . . . ” His near litany of corrections made Stiles feel like an apprentice instead of first soloist. “What’s your name?”

 

“Stiles. I’d give you my first name, but it’s too hard for most people to pronounce.”

 

Derek raised a dark eyebrow and moved on to Allison. By the time they had a break, he was gone.

 

“He hates me,” Stiles sighed, slipping his feet into booties to keep them warm.

 

Scott, Stiles’ best friend and one of the principal dancers, gave him a pat on the shoulder. “He doesn’t hate you. He just met you.”

 

“Scotty, he didn’t give anyone else as many corrections as he gave me.”

 

“You didn’t see the corrections he gave to the corps dancers,” Kira said.

 

Although Stiles knew she was trying to be helpful, it did nothing to assuage the anxiety in his chest. He wanted to be promoted, not lose his job.

 

He had been with Beacon Ballet for five years. While he and Allison began with the corps, Scott transferred from a different company to take the role of demi-soloist. The three of them had become fast friends.

 

“Don’t flatter yourself, Stiles,” Kate, their prima ballerina, said as she walked past them, “You weren’t the one who had the majority of Derek’s attention.” She wasn’t lying. Derek may have given Stiles the most corrections, but he gave Kate the most attention. It should have come as no surprise, since she was the absolute female lead, but her arrogance had put Stiles off since the day they met. Her status as Allison’s aunt complicated things, but Stiles knew how hard his friend had worked for her spot, and he wasn’t going to let faulty bloodlines spoil their friendship.

 

“Ignore her,” Allison whispered.

 

“Easy for you to say,” Stiles grumbled back. He focused on keeping himself warm and limber, instead. He was having pain in one of his feet, but the trainers kept reassuring him that with rest and stretching, the pain would ease.

 

“How about we go out tomorrow after rehearsal? We all have the weekend off, right?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “I’m game. Isaac? You and Boyd want to go out tomorrow night?”

 

“Sure,” they said together.

 

“Are you inviting the girls?” Isaac asked. “The girls,” as they called them, were the three demi-soloists.

 

“I’m sure they’ll come,” Allison said. She smiled, showing off a perfect row of white teeth. Sometimes Stiles teased Scott for getting to her first.

 

Bobby—or Cupcake, as he liked to be called—the Ballet Master walked back into the room to continue class, and the conversation ended.

 

After a rehearsal that served no purpose than to give Derek something to watch, Stiles and Scott returned to their shared apartment. Living with someone, especially someone in the company, made life easier. Sometimes rehearsals lasted until midnight, so it was nice to have a roommate who would not only be awake at 1 a.m., but also willing to make a food run in the middle of the night.

 

Stiles dropped his dance bag in his bedroom and toed off his shoes. Upon getting home from work, the first step was always to strip off every piece of clothing he wore, not least of all his tights and dancebelt. Men who wore boxers or briefs all day had no idea how good it felt to let your junk swing free after a day confined behind a strip of spandex. He and Scott had also been smart enough to rent an apartment with two bathrooms so they wouldn’t have to fight one another for the shower.

 

When he got out, Stiles pulled on a pair of cotton pants and walked out to the living room. Scott was already there, showered, dressed, and watching an episode of the Daily Show.

 

“Dude, that was fast. What did you do? Wash your balls and skip the rest?”

 

“No . . . I got in and got out. Are you trying to cover up the fact that you were jerking off in there?”

 

Stiles punched Scott’s shoulder and sat down on the other end of the couch. He tried to focus on Jon Stewart, really tried, but his mouth betrayed him. “So, what do you think of Derek?”

 

“He’s cool, I guess. I mean, he’s our boss, so . . . ”

 

“I don’t think he likes me.”

 

Sighing, Scott reached for the open beer bottle on the coffee table. “Didn’t we already have this discussion? He hardly knows you. How can he hate you? Besides, he’s Cora’s brother. She’s a sweetheart, so how bad can he be?”

 

With no response to that, Stiles settled back against the couch cushions and tried once again to focus on the television. Derek couldn’t be _that_ bad.

 

Could he?

 

*

 

Stiles wanted to force feed Scott’s words back to him the next day at rehearsal when Derek made them repeat the same 8-count for an hour.

 

“Again,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time.

 

The company resumed their places, the pianist began playing again, and Derek counted off. The steps should have been perfect, but Derek still had a pucker between his eyebrows.

 

“Mr. Stilinski,” he said after a beat, “switch places with Mr. Dunbar.”

 

The surprise must have shown on Stiles’ face because Derek added, “Is there a problem, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

Stiles shook his head and turned around. Liam, the youngest and newest member of the company gave him a look of confusion as they passed one another.

 

After that, Derek allowed the rehearsal to progress. By the end of the day, Stiles had never been so worried about losing his job.

 

*

 

At the bar that night, Stiles’ friends did what they could to cheer him up. Even Lydia, Stiles’ biggest crush since the day he joined the company, told him to shrug it off.

 

“You still have ten months of your contract to prove to Derek that you belong with Beacon Ballet. If—and this is a big _if_ —he even tried to fire you, it would be a breach of contract, and you could sue him and Beacon Ballet for all they’re worth.”

 

Stiles just gaped at her. “How did you get so smart?”

 

“If it wasn’t for ballet, I would have gone to law school.”

 

“That’s not even fair,” Erica said, shaking her head. “You can’t be a beautiful principal _and_ a lawyer. How old are you, again?”

 

Lydia flipped her long hair over one shoulder. “Twenty-seven.”

 

“See, that’s what I want to be when I grow up—you.”

 

Cora slipped her arm around Stiles’ shoulders. “Don’t let my brother get you down. Come on, now. Where’s the famous Stilinski smile?” She poked at his face until he couldn’t keep himself from laughing.

 

“Well.” A voice cut across the laughter at their table. Stiles looked up to see Kate staring at him. “Shouldn’t you be at home working on your technique, Stiles?”

 

“Shove it up your ass, Kate,” Stiles retorted. “I have to work with you, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you.”

 

“I’d watch your mouth, if I were you. From what I hear, Derek’s already been warned about you.”

 

Stiles clenched his jaw so tightly it hurt. Beside him, Allison whispered, “Just let it go, Stiles.”

 

Kate regarded the rest of the group. “I hope you all have a wonderful night.” Her words sounded sincere, even as her cold eyes fixed on Stiles.

 

“I just don’t understand what she has against me,” Stiles said once she was out of earshot.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Scott insisted, sliding another beer in front of his friend. “Let’s just have a good time.”

 

Stiles took the bottle, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this would be his last season at Beacon Ballet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cast, as promised (the numbers in parentheses are their estimated ages in this fic): 
> 
> Artistic Director: Derek Hale (35)  
> Ballet Master: Bobby "Cupcake" Finstock (47)  
> Ballet Mistress: Jennifer Blake (45)  
> Principals: Kate Argent (37), Scott McCall (25), Jackson Whittemore (28), Lydia Martin (27)  
> Soloists: Stiles Stilinski (25), Allison Argent (25), Isaac Lahey (22), Vernon Boyd (24)  
> Demi-Soloists: Cora (Hale) Greenberg (23), Erica Reyes, Kira Yukimura (19)  
> Corps: Danny Mahealani (19), Liam Dunbar (18), Malia Tate, Jordan Parrish (21)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read and commented on the first chapter of this. 
> 
> Also, thank you to the lovely anon(s) who keep leaving me awesome plotty prompts on Tumblr! 
> 
> ETA: Now betaed by the awesome sauce of Naemi!
> 
> **Warning for this chapter: mentions of _blood and other ballet-related injuries_. It's not especially grotesque or center stage, but it is a side effect of dancing en pointe.**

Monday morning, Derek was in the studio when all the dancers assembled.

 

“Today, I would like to meet with each of you individually. I will be calling you into my office one at a time, starting with Kate.”

 

As the prima sauntered after Derek, Stiles looked at his friends. “I’m dead.”

 

*

 

“It’s so nice to have you here, Der.”

 

“I told you that as long as we’re both working here, ours will be a working relationship only.”

 

Kate leaned across the desk. “I could always quit.”

 

“Do it and see what happens.” Derek’s green eyes were hard and serious. He was more than willing to call her bluff.

 

Huffing out a sigh, Kate threw herself backwards in the chair. “So, what’s this meeting about, then?”

 

Derek flipped open the folder in front of him. “It’s a performance review; though, I have to say, Kate, that your record is nearly impeccable.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Except for the accident involving my sister.”

 

“Derek, that was years ago,” Kate said, raising her hand.

 

Cora and Derek’s older sister, Laura, had been slated to play the lead in Swan but when she inexplicably fell off the stage while practicing, the part was played by her understudy: Kate.

 

Laura fell in such an awkward fashion that she was paralyzed and rendered unable to speak. With only Kate’s half of the story, the incident was ruled an accident. Kate played Odette, and Laura never danced again.

 

“She’s still my sister.” Even after all these years, Derek still found it hard to believe that Laura “accidentally” fell off a stage upon which she had spent nearly her entire life. Derek had tried on multiple occasions to ask his sister what happened, but Laura would only stare at him with glassy eyes. Her accident also ended Derek’s relationship with Kate.

 

“But I didn’t bring you in here to talk about the past. I think you can take Beacon Ballet to the next level.”

 

Kate preened under the praise.

 

“Audition rehearsals will begin next week. I want you in top form.”

 

“Aren’t I always?” She stood up from her chair with a wink in Derek’s direction.

 

“One more thing, Kate.”

 

Turning, she paused at the door.

 

“Don’t call me ‘Der.’ Send Scott in, please.”

 

Kate flounced out the door, but managed to compose herself by the time she got to the studio. “Scott, he wants you, sweetheart.”

 

Stiles gave Scott a thumbs-up, but it was more for himself than his friend.

 

*

 

“Mr. McCall, shut the door and have a seat. You’ve been with the company for five years?”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“And you were promoted to principal after three years.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“At 25, you’re the youngest principal in the company. Do you think you’re too young to partner with Kate?”

 

The question caught Scott off guard, but he managed to hide it. “Respectfully, Sir, as the best male lead in this company, I think it’s only appropriate that I partner with Kate. We’ve been dancing together since before I became a principal, and I think it’s our chemistry that helped me advance so quickly.”

 

“Indeed,” Derek said, the ghost of a smile crossing his features. “Send in Lydia next.”

 

*

 

“You’re quite an accomplished dancer, Ms. Martin. Do you intend to become prima when Kate retires?”  

 

“I wouldn’t be sitting here if I didn’t.”

 

That got a genuine smile out of Derek. “I like my dancers with a bit of spunk. I look forward to seeing more from you. Mr. Whittemore is next.”

 

*

 

Stiles began to bite his already-destroyed nails as Jackson disappeared into Derek’s office.

 

“Stop that,” Lydia said, smacking his hands.

 

“He’s going to fire me.”

 

“He’s not going to fire you, but if you don’t calm down, he might write you up for lack of professionalism.”

 

Stiles gulped audibly.

 

*

 

Inside the office, Jackson was much more calm and collected than Stiles would ever be.

 

“You’re older and easily more attractive than Scott. You’ve also been with the company longer. Why aren’t you Kate’s partner?”

 

Jackson was quiet for a moment before answering. “Lydia is my partner in ballet and out. We know each other better than any other couple on that stage.”

 

*

 

At first, Stiles sat quietly in Derek’s office, listening to the clock tick. After what felt like an eternity, Derek flipped his folder closed and dropped the entire weight of his stare on Stiles.

 

“This is your first ballet company, am I right, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

It took all Stiles’ restraint not to pop off with a smart remark. Plus, he hated the way Derek said his last name. “It is.”

 

“What is your goal as a dancer?”

 

“To become principal.” The way Stiles said it almost sounded like a question. Aren’t these answers obvious?

 

“And you think you’re going to do that here?” Derek’s tone made the question sound like a statement, and Stiles braced himself.

 

“Yes?” Definitely a question this time.

 

“You need more focus,” Derek said after a beat. “You overthink what your body is doing, but it should be automatic. Trust yourself. We have an entire season before new contracts go out. Send in Allison.”

 

Stiles left Derek’s office in a daze. He had been absolutely convinced he was going to lose his job.

 

*

 

“So you’re Kate’s niece. Did that make getting into the company easier for you?”

 

“I auditioned and worked my way up like everyone else. The only thing Kate did was tell me there was an opening here.”

 

“Good. My dancers need to earn their places. That’s part of ballet. It’s a business like everything else.”

 

*

 

“Mr. Lahey, I hear you had a bad experience with your previous company. Would you like to tell me about that?”

 

“Not really,” Isaac said, ducking his head. “It’s over, and I’m here, now. I only intend to move forward.”

 

Derek nodded. “And we will.”

 

*

 

“Mr. Boyd, you’re the quiet one of the bunch.”

 

“Yes, Sir.”

 

“Maybe you can put a muzzle on Stiles for me.”

 

Boyd just chuckled.

 

*

 

“Hey, bro,” Cora said, sauntering into Derek’s office.

 

“Can you at least try to respect the fact that I’m your boss now? Call me by my name.”

 

“You knew I was here before you took the job,” Cora shot back. “You knew _she_ was here, so don’t play the ignorant card with me, Derek.”

 

“If you want to keep your job, you better check your tone.”

 

“Why? What are you going to do? Fire me?” Cora slammed the door shut on her way out.

 

*

 

“Ms. Reyes, I see here you’re epileptic.”

 

“I wear a medical alert bracelet during practice,” she said, shaking the silver chain around her wrist, “but mostly everyone knows what to do if I have a seizure. I can usually feel them coming on, anyway.”

 

“Have you ever had a seizure on stage?”

 

“Never,” Erica replied. “That’s where I seem to be in the most control. The most . . . normal.”

 

*

 

“Ms. Yuk—”

 

“Just call me Kira. That makes me think of my mom. Not that she does ballet. That’s just me.”

 

Derek’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not related to Stiles, are you?”

 

Kira laughed nervously in response. “Not that I know of.”

 

*

 

Since the corps was so vast, Derek separated them into groups and called Danny, Liam, Malia, and Jared in together.

 

“Which of you has been here the longest?”

 

“I have,” Danny said.

 

“How long?”

 

“Four years.”

 

“And you’re still in the corps?” Derek did not look impressed. “Which of you is the newest?”

 

Liam raised his hand. “This is my first year.”

 

“How old are you?”

 

“18.”

 

Glancing at Danny, Derek said, “I can guarantee that if we promote him in the spring, we’ll let you go.”

 

Unsurprisingly, Danny did not look pleased to hear that.

 

“What about you two?” Derek asked the remaining dancers.

 

“I’ve been with the company for two years, now,” Malia said.

 

Jared held up three fingers. “It’s my third year.”

 

*

 

When the one-on-ones with Derek concluded for the day, everyone was cranky and on edge.

 

“Well, he doesn’t hate me,” Stiles said as he and Malia walked into his apartment. Scott was hanging out with Allison, so they had the place to themselves.

 

“At least you don’t have it as bad as Danny. Derek literally told him that if Liam gets promoted, he’ll lose his job.”

 

“So he is making threats about firing people.”

 

“Stiles, I really don’t think you have anything to worry about. Even if Derek starts to fire people, you’re not at the top of the list.” Leave it to Malia to put things in perspective. Painfully.

 

After a shower, they shared a pan of stir-fry and sat down on the living room floor to stretch.

 

“Do you think Kate will get the lead in Bayadere?”

 

“Of course,” Stiles replied as he alternately flexed his foot and pointed his toe. It was still giving him problems. “The only way she wouldn’t get it is if someone pushed her off the stage.”

 

“You’re not making a joke about Laura Hale, are you?” Oh, Malia. Always so serious.

 

“I was trying to, but I guess not.” Stiles fell silent as he switched legs and began stretching the other foot. When dancers start at age 7, nobody ever tells them how hard ballet is on the body.

 

“How’s your foot?”

 

Stiles slid his legs together and pointed both toes. “It’s a little sore when I go up on relevé, but nothing I can’t handle.”

 

“I think I’m about to lose another toenail,” Malia replied, flicking at the loose flap on her big toe. Like most ballerinas, her feet were bruised, misshapen, and at times, bloody—they were ugly at best. Stiles had danced en pointe before, but it wasn’t his favorite for obvious reasons. He’d take a dance belt over pointe shoes any day.

 

“That’s really gross. Thanks for sharing.”

 

Malia rolled her eyes. “You’ve seen worse.” ‘Worse’ was probably the day Lydia bled through the satin on her pointe shoes, but she’d wrapped her toes, put on new shoes, and kept dancing. It was one of the many reasons Stiles liked her so much. She never, ever quit.

 

“That doesn’t mean I enjoy the sight of blood,” Stiles said with a grimace.

 

“If it falls off, I’ll wrap it up.”

 

“Or you could wrap it, anyway.”

 

“Don’t be such a girl, Stiles.” Malia tucked her feet up under her body. “Are you going to look for a new company if you don’t get promoted in the spring?”

 

“I don’t know.” Stiles shrugged. “Maybe. I guess it depends on how this season goes. If Derek and I really don’t get along, I’m going to have to.”

 

“I don’t want you to leave. You’re the best friend I have here.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, yet. Derek’s going to have to work a lot harder than this to get rid of me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Come Tumbl with me!](http://moitness.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! *waves* 
> 
> Thank you again for all the kind words about this fic. I'm working hard on chapter 4 as we speak. 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely Naemi.
> 
> Enjoy!

Rehearsal auditions began the following week, as scheduled. The company was split into two groups: soloists and corps, and then further divided into men and women. Kate, Lydia, Allison, Cora, Erica, and Kira worked with Jennifer, while Scott, Jackson, Stiles, Boyd, and Isaac worked with Cupcake. Derek split his time amongst the groups, though he spent the most time watching his principals dance. 

“Now, remember: the movements for this ballet are large and dramatic. This is La Bayadere, not Swan Lake. We’re telling the story of an Arabian prince, not a swan . . . prince.” Cupcake shook his head. “Let’s do the combination again. One more time, and we’ll put it to music. On my count . . . ”

As one, the dancers moved through the routine, pirouetting and pliéing on count. They had almost reached the end of the combination when Stiles fell out of turn early. He managed to pull himself back together for the final counts, but the mistake had already been made. 

“Bilinski!” Cupcake barked. “What the hell was that? The last time I saw someone fall out of a double turn was at my niece’s dance recital. She’s 10.” 

“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” 

Cupcake nodded. “See that it doesn’t. Back in place, everyone. We’ll try this again with music. If any of you fall out of a turn, you’ll be practicing triples for the rest of the afternoon.” 

Scott shot Stiles a quick glance when Cupcake’s back was turned. “Are you okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” Stiles nodded, “I’m fine.” Before the music started, he took a moment to stretch his feet, lifting his heels up one at a time, and then rolling his toes under. It wasn’t enough, but it was all he was going to get for the time being. 

Just as the music began, Derek walked in, and Stiles wanted to sink into the floor. 

“Make this good,” Cupcake said, looking over the group. Almost immediately, he was shouting corrections. “Point your feet! Higher in those leaps! Relevé, Bilinski, relevé!”

As the combination came to a close, the dancers were flushed and sweating. Cupcake punched his finger on the stop button. “That was terrible! My grandmother could do better, and she’s dead! Take a water break. Thirty seconds!” 

Gratefully, the dancers retreated to the far wall where their belongings were piled. 

“Seriously, dude,” Scott said to Stiles between sips. “Are you you okay?” 

Stiles shook his head. “No. Something’s wrong.” 

Scott looked like he wanted to say something else, but Cupcake called them back to the floor.   
Stiles managed to finish rehearsal, but by the end, he was in so much pain he could hardly walk. When he pulled off his ballet slipper, he was relieved to find that his foot did not show any signs of bruising. He dug his thumbs into the sole of his foot, groaning softly at how good it felt. 

“I should have wrapped this earlier. Scott, do you have any tape in your bag?”

“Uh . . . ” Scott rummaged around for a moment and pulled out a bright green roll of prewrap. “Will this work?” 

“Absolutely,” Stiles said, snatching the roll out of his friend’s hand. “I just need to get home.” 

“You need to get it checked out.” 

Stiles waved him off. “Go on. I’ll meet you at home. If I’m still limping when I stand up, I’ll go talk to one of the trainers. I promise.” 

“Just be careful, dude. Something like that can ruin your career.” Scott gave him a pat on the shoulder and headed for the door. 

Grumbling to himself, Stiles set to work wrapping his foot. 

“Before you get too far, can I take a look?”

Stiles glanced up to see Derek standing over him, and his stomach dropped. “It’s nothing, really . . . ”

But Derek was already kneeling down and taking ahold of Stiles’ foot. “Tell me if this hurts,” he said quietly. He took the prewrap from Stiles’ limp fingers and began to wrap an expert bind. It was hard to believe a man with such a stern look could have such a gentle touch. “I’m not a trainer, but it looks like cuboid syndrome—something I suffered from when I was still dancing.” It was the most Derek had said without deriding him, and Stiles had no sarcastic reply. 

Derek finished the wrap, stood up, and held out his hand. Tentatively, Stiles accepted the help; he couldn’t expect Derek to shove him down after taping him together. 

“Does it hurt when you put pressure on it?”

Stiles shifted his weight slowly, but the wrapping supported him. “No. It’s pretty okay.” He took a few steps to ensure he could. 

“‘Pretty okay’ or do you need help getting downstairs?”

“I can get downstairs,” Stiles reassured him, leaning over to grab his bag. 

Nevertheless, Derek insisted upon walking with him to the training room. Alan, one of three trainers, was in there when they arrived. 

“I think he has cuboid syndrome. I could tell something was wrong by the way he moved while he was dancing,” Derek said before Stiles or Alan had a chance to speak. 

“My foot hurts,” Stiles said as he climbed carefully onto the table. “Marin saw it last week. She said to ice it, but I did, and it’s just gotten worse.” 

“You might have to take a few days off,” Alan said. 

The young dancer glanced nervously at Derek. Taking days off—even just a few—could cost him precious hours in the studio. He didn’t want an injury to hold him back from performing in the first show of the season. 

“If it does turn out to be cuboid syndrome, it’s a relatively easy fix.” As he spoke, Alan manipulated Stiles’ foot, testing the bones beneath the muscle. “Yep, that feels like your problem. This may hurt a bit, Stiles.” With no other warning, the trainer pushed on one of Stiles’ bones and popped it back into place. 

“Holy shit!” Stiles shouted, grasping at the force of the pain. He’d had broken toes before, and a sprained ankle, but none of that felt as bad as this. “Okay, that hurt.” 

“The pain will gradually decrease. For now, I want you to rest, ice, and elevate your foot as much as possible. Keep it wrapped during the day—that will help manage any swelling.” 

“How long until I can dance again?”

“When the pain goes away—and that does not mean taking aspirin. You can take an NSAID to reduce pain and swelling, but dancing on your foot before it has recovered will only prolong the healing period.” 

“You’re not back in the studio without my approval,” Derek added. 

Stiles huffed out a breath. “I can’t even watch?”

“Don’t push your luck.” 

“Sorry, Dad,” Stiles shot back with a smile. As much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to like, if not respect Derek. Deucalion never would have wrapped Stiles’ foot and escorted him to the training room. 

*

Scott was supportive, but unsurprised when Stiles got home. “I told you something was wrong. You were grimacing through the last half of rehearsal.” 

“I was? That must have been why Derek stayed behind.” 

Allison, who was cozied up on the couch next to Scott, nodded in agreement. “He’s really not a bad guy, Stiles. He and Kate used to date like ages ago, and I’ve only heard good things.” 

“Wait—what? Derek used to date Kate? Are you kidding me? This has to be some kind of joke, right? I mean, I know the dance world is completely inbred, but come on.” 

“It’s true. They broke up right after his sister’s accident.” 

“Well, that explains a lot,” Stiles muttered. “So, how was your rehearsal, Allie? Did everyone actually dance, or did Kate just require the room be cleared so Nikiya could practice?” 

“You’re so dramatic, Stiles. It was fine. Nothing exciting.” 

Stiles sat down on the other couch with a huff. “See, ballet is one of those rare places where the gender roles get muddy: The guys are the ones with the drama and all the girls do is show up and look pretty.” 

“Hardly. I wish all I had to do was show up and look pretty. Would you like to wear my pointe shoes for a while?”

“No, thank you. I got a good look at Malia’s feet last night, and let me tell you: they are nasty.” 

Allison wiggled her toes inside the striped socks she wore. “I’m sure mine are no better.” 

“Yes, but see, at least you keep yours covered. You’re not subjecting the rest of us to that horror.” A pillow hit him square in the face, and Stiles had to give Allison credit. She had great aim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@moitness](http://moitness.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek does not appear in this chapter, but I promise he'll be back in the next one. The pace plot is also going to pick up, and the Sterek is going to begin its uphill climb.
> 
> Thank you so much to those of you who are sticking with me through this one. :)

Attending rehearsals while sitting in a chair with his foot propped up—benched, Stiles called it, despite Derek proclamation that he wasn’t supposed to be in the studio at all—was most certainly the lowest point of his career. While everyone else was learning the routine for the audition, Stiles was learning how much he hated to watch his friends dance, especially when he couldn’t. He had even worn his leotard and tights to show solidarity with his company members. By the third day, however, Stiles gave up and attended rehearsal in a pair of sweatpants. Nobody cared what he was wearing, and it wouldn’t make his foot heal any faster. 

Presently, Stiles was watching the other soloists with no small measure of jealousy. Part of him wondered if they looked or danced better without him, and the other part, the rational part, knew that wasn’t true. Hopefully, he would be back before they started working on the couples’ routines. Cora couldn’t dance without him, or at least he hoped. 

Cupcake told them to break for lunch, and Stiles rose gingerly to his feet. 

“How’s the ankle?” Isaac asked. 

“Foot, and it’s feeling better. I still can’t dance on it without incurring Derek’s wrath, but it’s better,” Stiles replied. 

“I heard he carried you down to the training room,” Jackson taunted. “Now you’re complaining?” 

“Shove it up your ass, Jackson. That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

“He is pretty hot,” Isaac chimed in. 

Everyone’s eyes fell on him. 

“What? He is!”

Stiles kept his mouth shut on that one. Only a blind person would not be able to see how attractive Derek Hale was. It had been easier to ignore when Stiles thought he was just a dick, but now . . . “Did you guys know he used to date Kate?”

“Our Kate? Kate Argent?” Jackson sputtered.

Even Boyd looked surprised. 

“Do you think that’s why he came here? To be closer to her?” Isaac asked. 

“I really don’t think so,” Scott said, speaking up for the first time. “Allison said they broke up a long time ago.” 

The group seemed satisfied with that answer, and moved down the hall to the break room, but Stiles couldn’t stop thinking about it all. It wasn’t just the idea of Derek and Kate together—they were both beautiful, successful dancers—it was the fact that Kate was such a bitch, and Derek . . . wasn’t. What could he possible see in someone like her? 

Unfortunately, Stiles had nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon but think as he watched the second half of rehearsals. He was trying his best to learn the choreography mentally so he wouldn’t be so far behind, but that was easier said than done. He could see the mistakes the others were making, so he filed those notes away in his mind for future reference. 

By Friday, Stiles was well and truly sick of sitting on his ass, and he told Alan as much. 

“Well, it certainly looks like it’s healing. Have you been following my instructions?”

“To the letter,” Stiles sighed. “Can I dance on Monday?”

“Keep up with the therapy until then. If you have any pain or discomfort, let me know; otherwise, it should be safe to resume rehearsing.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Stiles exclaimed, punching his fist into the air. 

Alan raised an eyebrow. 

“I meant: That’s awesome,” Stiles said, slightly less enthusiastic with a meager fist pump. 

*

Stiles and Scott invited the other soloists—minus Kate, plus Malia—over for a small get-together that night. One of the drawbacks of being in season was that they all had to watch what they ate more stringently than usual. Allison and Malia made a couple of veggie pizzas while Stiles and Scott cut up enough fruit for a small army. 

“Did you guys invite the entire company, or what?” Cora asked as she spooned through the fruit salad for a piece of mango. 

Stiles scoffed. “We were trying to make sure you flimsy little ballerinas got a decent meal. Don’t want your leg to break off during a lift.”

“Speaking of . . . Are you going to be able to lift me when we start partner rehearsals?”

“I can toss you around any day.” Stiles grabbed her around the waist, preparing to throw her over his shoulder when Allison’s voice cut across the room. 

“Stiles, don’t! The last thing we need is you with a broken ankle and Cora with a broken neck.” 

“It was a joke,” Stiles grumbled, releasing Cora and stepping back. 

“My brother would never forgive you,” Cora smirked. “Or my husband, for that matter. But, if I were you, I’d be more afraid of Derek.” 

“No kidding.” 

“Why didn’t someone invite him to the party?” Kira asked. 

“Are you serious right now?” Stiles’ expression was incredulous. “Let’s invite our boss—who pretty much hates me by the way—to a party at my house. I think that’s just asking to be fired.” 

“He could say no.” 

“Just . . . no.” Stiles had to walk away before he said something that would hurt Kira’s feelings. She was just too sensitive sometimes. 

He found Malia sitting on the couch alone and dropped down beside her. “Why the long face, Tatums?”

“Just taking it all in, I guess,” she said, offering him a smile. “I’m the only one you invited from the corps. I don’t really know anyone else.” 

“You know me. And Scott and Allison.” 

“Yeah . . . ” Malia fiddled with the sleeve of her top. “But I don’t really know anyone else. And Lydia’s here . . . ”

Stiles couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “You want to meet Lydia? Come on.” 

Despite Malia’s protests, Stiles pulled her up by the wrist and dragged her across the room to where Lydia stood talking to Allison. 

“Lydia,” Stiles drawled, wrapping his arm around Malia’s waist. “This is Malia. She’s in the corps, and I invited her over, and she really wanted to meet you.” 

“Hi,” Malia said, embarrassment rolling off her in waves. 

“I know who you are, sweetie,” Lydia said, holding out her hand, “but it’s nice to be formally introduced. I don’t have time to spend with the other soloists, let alone meet members of the corps.”

“I—you’re amazing,” Malia gushed. “I’ve been following your career since you were accepted into the Miami Ballet. I was only 11 at the time, but I knew then that I wanted to follow in your footsteps.”

“And look at you, now. Come on,” Lydia said, taking Malia by the elbow, “let me introduce you to my boyfriend, Jackson.” 

Satisfied, Stiles hunted around the room until he found Scott again, this time in a heated debate with Allison and Kira about the latest season of Project Runway. More precisely, the girls were debating while Scott stood by pretending to listen. 

“Well, I’ve done my good deed for the day,” Stiles said, coming to a stop next to his friend. 

“Oh yeah? What?” 

“I introduced Malia to Lydia.” 

“Didn’t they know each other before? This is Malia’s second year in the company.”

Stiles waved a dismissive hand. “You know how Lydia is. I don’t think she’d recognize half the corps if they paraded through the door right now.”

“I don’t think I would, either,” Scott said with a laugh. “So, how’s the foot?”

Presently, it was unwrapped and bare, but Stiles had iced it before the party. “Much better. I’m sure I’ll be able to dance on Monday, so as long as Derek Sourpuss Hale doesn’t stop me.”

Scott made a face. “In his defense—”

“Nothing that starts with ‘in defense of Derek Hale’ can be a good thing for me.” 

“In his defense, Derek was the one who figured out you have cuboid syndrome.” 

“So? Does he deserve an award, or something? Congratulations, you figured out what was wrong with my foot? Alan would have noticed it, anyway.” 

Scott’s expression was doubtful, and Stiles threw his hands in the air. 

“All I’m going to say is that I think you should cut the guy some slack. I really do think he has your best interests at heart.” Scott pressed his lips together in a thin smile and clapped his friend on the shoulder. 

As far as Stiles was concerned, that remained to be seen.


	5. Chapter 5

Reintegrating into rehearsals was harder than Stiles had been anticipating. While he wasn’t too far behind the others, he still couldn’t keep up with the choreography. After about 20 minutes of struggling, Cupcake banished Stiles to one of the empty studios. 

“This is ridiculous,” Stiles muttered as he ran through the routine. 

The door opened, and he met Derek’s eyes in the mirror. Well, fuck. 

“How are you doing?” the artistic director asked. 

“I would be a lot better if I could practice with the rest of the company, but Cupcake sent me here to ‘catch up.’ That would be a lot more effective if I actually knew what I was doing.” 

“Can I help?” 

Stiles was silent for a long moment before he forced out a “Yes,” knowing this had the potential to end badly. 

“Then let’s take it from the top without music for now.” 

Stiles waited for Derek to count off, then began to dance. The first few corrections were spoken quietly, unlike Cupcake’s barking during rehearsal. When Stiles got to the part he didn’t remember well, Derek stopped him. 

“That next part should be one, two, three, sashay, sashay, leap,” he said, demonstrating the moves as he spoke. 

Stiles had never seen Derek dance before (aside from the YouTube videos he and Scott looked up), and it was quite breathtaking. He almost didn’t have enough brain cells gathered to execute the moves himself when Derek looked at him expectantly. 

Taking a deep breath, Stiles repeated the combination Derek had just shown him. “How was that?” 

“Good. Do it again. This time, I want you to get more height.”

Stiles leapt again, but Derek still wasn’t satisfied. 

“Bend your knees more before you take off.” 

“Like this?” Stiles asked, getting his body into position. 

“Hold on a second. Let’s try something. Put your feet in fifth position.” 

Stiles did, and Derek walked behind him. The artistic director’s hands settled on Stiles’ waist, and the dancer only just kept himself from jumping in surprise. 

“Okay, I want you to think of this leap like the lifts you do with Cora. Plie.” 

Stiles dipped his knees. 

“Now, on the count of three, I want you to jump up with my assistance. One . . . two . . . three.” 

As Stiles jumped, Derek lifted him even higher than he could have gotten alone. 

“How did that feel?”

“Good,” Stiles replied, feeling himself flush all over. It had been far too long since anyone touched him that he was having a hard time separating his personal feelings from work. Blowing out a breath, Stiles ran a hand through his hair and tried to act nonchalant. He was definitely not getting a chub from his boss. 

“Good,” Derek repeated. “That’s what I want it to look like when you do your leap. Try it again, but without my help.” 

Stiles leapt again, but Derek was still not satisfied. “Is your foot still giving your problems?” 

“No,” Stiles replied, flexing his foot self-consciously. 

Derek knelt down. “Let me see.” 

It took a moment for Stiles to realize what Derek was insinuating. “What? No! I’m fine, really.” 

“Stiles.” Derek wiggled his fingers, and the dancer knew there was no way around this. 

Sighing, Stiles lifted his foot up and placed it on Derek’s knee. Although he knew the other man could handle his weight, he kept the majority balanced on his standing leg. 

With great care, Derek slid off the ballet slipper. He flexed and pointed Stiles’ foot manually, eyeing it with the same attention an artist would give his canvas. “Does this hurt?” he asked, dragging his thumb firmly down the sole. 

“Nooo.” The word came out like a croon because it felt so good to have Derek touching his feet like that. 

“That’s a good sign.” To Stiles’ dismay, Derek replaced his ballet shoe with the same gentle touch and stood up. “Okay, maybe if I show you, it will make more sense what you’re doing.” Turning to face the room, Derek took off and imitated Stiles’ leap. “But what I want to see is this.” He did the leap again, but with much more power and precision. It was a thing of beauty. Next to Derek, Stiles felt like a brand new student wearing his ballet slippers for the first time. It was also complicating the growing situation inside his dancebelt. “Come on, Stiles, I know you’ve got more energy than you’re showing me. You want to be a principal next year? Then make me feel it.” 

Stiles wanted to feel it, all right, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about Derek being on the other end of that feeling. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself into the next leap, and it was instantly different. He landed with a grin and spun around. “How was that?” 

“Much better. Now, apply that level of enthusiasm to the rest of the routine.” 

Working with Derek was harder than rehearsal with Cupcake, despite the former’s soft-spoken approach to instruction. By the time they wrapped for the day, Stiles was more worn out than usual. 

“Good job today. You should be able to join the others tomorrow.”

Stiles felt his entire body flush with pleasure at Derek’s words. The artistic director didn’t hand out compliments easily or readily, and if it wasn’t completely inappropriate, Stiles would have thought he’d developed a crush on the man. 

*

The soloists began learning the pas de deux the following day, and Stiles decided he wanted to quit his job. 

“Stop, just stop,” Derek said over Finnstock’s voice. “Stiles, you should be guiding her, not pushing her along.”

“I’m not pushing her,” Stiles grumbled back in frustration. 

“Don’t argue with me. Do it again.” 

They repeated the combination, but their artistic director still wasn’t happy. “Cora, try it without Stiles.”

Scowling, Stiles stood off to the side, watching as his partner danced the steps. Perfectly, according to Derek. 

“Kate, can I borrow you for a moment?” 

The prima walked over, and Stiles had to roll his lips inward to keep from making a snide remark. 

“Stiles, try the combination again with Kate.” 

He stepped up to her, and he could feel the tension in her body language. It was a mirror of his own. He didn’t want to do this any more than she, but they had no choice. 

Derek counted off, and they moved together through the steps. As much as Stiles hated to admit it, the dance felt different than it had with Cora. He stepped away from Kate to find Derek with a rare smile on his face. 

“That is what I want to see. Did you notice how it felt more like you were guiding her, rather than pushing her along?” 

Stiles nodded, resolutely keeping his gaze away from Cora. He felt like he’d cheated on her, or something equally absurd. 

“Good. Remember that. This is a pas de deux, not a pas de taureau.”

Kate giggled, while Stiles remained blank. He was not impressed by Derek’s French, nor Kate’s understanding of it. 

“How about we mix it up a bit, then? Kate, I want you to dance with Stiles, and Scott, that will put you with Cora. Take it from the top!” 

Derek kept Stiles with Kate for the rest of the rehearsal, and as much as Stiles hated to admit it, she was a great partner. 

*

When it came time to audition, Stiles felt almost naked dancing without Kate. He was facing Derek, Cupcake, and Jennifer, so it shouldn’t have been so nerve-wracking, but it was. Every day he danced in front of Derek was another opportunity to either become a principal or lose his job. He threw himself into the music, trying to prove to Derek that he had it inside of him to be a principal dancer. 

Every turn, every leap, Stiles strived to give 110%. This was his first real opportunity to earn a better place in the company, and he wasn’t going to waste it. 

The list was posted the following day. 

Stiles deliberately stayed back at the apartment long after Scott left because he was too afraid to see the cast list, especially if it spelled doom for his career at Beacon Ballet. 

When he arrived at the theatre, there was still a crowd and commotion around the posting, so Stiles hung back. A moment later, Kate emerged from the throng and pinned him with a glare. 

“You,” she growled.

Stiles glanced behind himself to make sure she wasn’t talking to someone else because he didn’t have the female sexuality to provide competition for Kate’s part. “This is all your fault. That, and Derek is obviously favoring his sister. I can’t believe this is happening. You’re going to regret this, Stilinski.” She stormed off, and some of the crowd parted, allowing Stiles to get a look at the cast list. 

He would be dancing the part of the High Brahim in the first cast and Kalum the Fakir in the second. Not bad. Skimming lower, he realized that Kate had been cast as Ajah, not the lovely Nikiya. That honor went to Cora. Stiles winced in sympathy. This could not be good. 

Turning away from the list, Stiles was met with Scott’s grinning face. “Congratulations.” 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

Scott waved him off with a nonplussed gesture. “How do you think I became principal?” 

“Well, I thought at least some of it was because you’re one of the best dancers in the company. It certainly wasn’t pissing off Kate. My mistake.”

Scott nudged Stiles’ shoulder. “Dancing with Kate won’t hurt you. Maybe this is just the ticket you need.” 

*

Derek began proper rehearsals like there wasn’t a current of anxiety running through his cast. Today, they were in the studio learning the basic staging for the choreography. It was a lot of standing and walking and marking the steps. 

The day was going smoothly until the toe box of Kate’s pointe shoe somehow slammed into Stiles’ shin, nearly sending him crashing to the floor. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he insisted, bending over to cup a hand against the throbbing pain in his leg. He was not willing to let a bruise keep him from dancing today, but Derek looked unconvinced. 

“Honey, he’s fine,” Kate said, her voice syrup-sweet. 

Although Stiles was sure she kicked him on purpose, he had to agree with her. “Really, Derek—” he executed a few moves for emphasis “—I’m fine.” Other than the sizable bruise on the front of his leg, he was. 

Then, Kate cornered him on his way out of the building that night. 

“How’s the leg?” she asked, crowding him against the wall. 

“Fine,” Stiles replied slowly, eyes darting to the doorway. 

Kate smiled, and the look sent shivers down Stiles’ spine. “Remember this.” She leaned close so she could whisper in his ear. “I’m the prima, and nothing is going to get in the way of that. You’re cute, Stiles, and I would hate to see something happen to you.” As she leaned back, Kate brushed the sleeve of Stiles’ t-shirt. “I’m so glad we had this little chat.” She blew him a kiss and sauntered towards the door. 

As Kate disappeared from the building, Stiles let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think of the story so far. We're starting to move into the slow burn, and the plot is going to pick up a bit more, in case you couldn't already tell.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Girltalk, mostly.
> 
> Derek comes back in the next chapter. I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice that this story now has a (rough) outline of 12 chapters. If I have to, I'll adjust that as we get closer to the end. Thanks for reading!

In front of the others, Kate was sweet as pie, but when it was just her and Stiles, she turned into a demon, which was why he avoided her as much as possible. Thankfully, their roles in La Bayadere did not necessitate they dance together in the first or second cast. Stiles’ part as the High Brahim was his main focus, since he would be dancing a minor part in the second cast. His primary partners were Allison and Boyd, so Stiles did his best to use them as physical buffers between himself and Kate.

 

It was easy enough to forget about her when Derek was around, though. Stiles found himself tracking the artistic director with his eyes as he made adjustments and gave corrections. He wanted to believe that losing his concentration because of Derek was a one-time thing, but when it continued to happen over the course of the week, Stiles knew he was in trouble. Cupcake noticed his distraction right away, and it was only a matter of time before Derek figured it out, too.

 

“Bilinski!” Cupcake barked, and Stiles was jolted back into reality. He dragged his concentration to his body and placed his feet in fifth position. “Can we start, now?” Cupcake snapped.

 

“Yes, Sir,” Stiles mumbled, cheeks burning. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek’s attention zero in on him like a snake spotting prey. Taking a deep breath, Stiles put all his mental energy into the dance.

 

“Focus! That’s a triple, not a double! I thought your foot was healed.”

 

“My foot is fine,” Stiles muttered. His brain was the problem. From his vantage point, Derek crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. He spared the room—and Stiles—one last look before leaving.

 

Stiles didn’t see him the rest of the day, but his concentration was better for it.

 

*

 

That night, Stiles met up with Cora, Erica, and Kira for dinner at their favorite Chinese restaurant.

 

“So, Stiles,” Cora grinned, popping a chip into her mouth, “tell us about your crush on my brother.”

 

“My crush on—I don’t have a crush on Derek.” Stiles answered too quickly to sound believable. “He’s my boss. That’s—no.”

 

“He swings both ways,” Cora added.

 

Next to her, Erica giggled. “Give it up, Stiles. Every time Derek walks into the room, you go all glassy-eyed and forget what your feet are for.”

 

Groaning, Stiles looked to Kira for support, but she just shook her head. “You’ve got it bad, Stiles.”

 

“Does everyone know?” he asked, his voice high and tight. His heart was beginning to pound harder.

 

“I heard Liam and Melia talking about it the other day,” Erica admitted.

 

Stiles dropped his forehead to the table. “I’m fucked. I am so fucked. Derek is going to find out about this and fire me. If Kate doesn’t kill me first, anyway.”

 

“What’s up with that?” Kira asked, taking a sip of water. “She’s been acting really strange around you lately. Did something happen?”

 

Stiles shrugged. “Just a threat against my life if she loses her prima status. Nothing major.”

 

“What the hell do you have to do with Kate being the prima?” Cora asked.

 

“You,” Stiles sighed. “Kate thinks Derek is playing favorites. You got the part of Nikiya; you’re Derek’s sister. Kate thinks I got my part because I’m your dance partner. The last thing I need is Kate thinking I fucked my way into that part.”

 

Kira’s hands flew up, and she nearly spilled her water across the table. “You had _sex_ with Derek?”

 

Cora and Erica leaned in closer, identical looks of surprise and interest on their faces.

 

“What? No! No—absolutely— _no_!” Stiles kept shaking his head like that would drive the truth home.

 

“But you want to,” Erica clarified.

 

“Not if it’s going to get me maimed by his crazy ex-girlfriend.” The table fell silent, and Stiles shut his mouth with a click. “I’m sorry, Cora, I didn’t mean—”

 

“Don’t worry about it.” Cora waved a dismissive hand.

 

Stiles just couldn’t shake the feeling that something really bad was going to happen.

 

*

 

During the next few weeks of rehearsals, some of the other dancers, particularly those in the corps, had begun to give Stiles odd looks and knowing smirks.

 

“I really wish they would quit staring at me like I’m wearing a scarlet letter or something,” Stiles grumbled as he and Scott stretched before rehearsal. “I haven’t even had the benefit of _committing_ adultery.”

 

“Don’t you have to be married before you commit adultery?” Scott asked, wrinkling his brow in confusion.

 

Sighing deeply, Stiles lifted his left leg onto the barre. “It’s a metaphor, Scott. I’m comparing the reaction I’m getting from the corps to Nathaniel Hawthorne’s novel.” He loved his best friend, but sometimes it was hard being the smarter one.

 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as the rest of the soloists filed in the studio.

 

Cora gave Stiles a small smile as she began stretching on his other side. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Stiles replied, silently thanking her for not treating him like a pariah. He hadn’t _done_ anything, other than check Derek out a few . . . hundred times. “How’s my favorite leading lady?”

 

“I’m doing well, Stiles, thanks for asking,” Kate said as she materialized behind them.

 

Stiles met her eyes in the mirror. The smirk she gave him looked more like a snarl than a smile.

 

“Ignore her,” Cora muttered under her breath.

 

“Big plans for the weekend, Cora?” Stiles asked, setting his left leg down and throwing his right leg onto the barre with more force than necessary.

 

“Not really. I’ll probably just watch the new episode of America’s Next Top Model.”

 

Stiles’ ears perked with interest. Models weren’t much different from ballet dancers, and he enjoyed watching the girls fight for the top spot. If there was a reality show about ballet, he would be all about that, too. “Wanna make it a girls’ night?”

 

Cora looked thoughtful for a moment. “I can probably get my husband out of the apartment. Will you bring cookie dough?”

 

Stiles’ “cookie dough” was made from chickpeas, and 100% acceptable for a ballerina’s diet. “Of course. I’ll even help you round up the gang. What time should we head over?”

 

“Seven? Does that sound good?”

 

“It’s a date,” Stiles said with a wink.

 

Derek walked into the room, and Stiles felt his knees turn into jelly. It was going to take all of his concentration to keep this professional.

 

*

 

Saturday night, Stiles headed to the Greenbergs’ with his bowl of cookie dough and a box of graham crackers. They started the show when everyone was assembled—Allison, Erica, Lydia, and Kira. Stiles hadn’t spent much time with Lydia or Allison lately, so he was happy to see them.

 

“What’s Scott doing tonight?” Erica asked as she made grabby hands at Stiles’ treats, which he handed over.

 

“He and Jackson are watching the 49ers game,” Stiles replied with mock enthusiasm. “They invited me, but that would mean watching football, and, no.”

 

“Guys, it’s starting,” Lydia said, hushing them as the opening credits of the show began.

 

They were already down one contestant, but Stiles didn’t like her, anyway. She came off way too one-dimensional in front of the camera. Although he had never modeled, Stiles was sure he could do a better job than half the wannabes on the show, despite the judges’ harsh critiques of former dancers.

 

When the first commercial aired, Erica directed her attention to Stiles as Cora fast-forwarded to the show. “So, what’s the latest between you and Derek? Any new _developments_ in that department?”

 

“What?” Stile sputtered, nearly choking on the graham cracker in his mouth. All the attention had shifted to him. Cora even paused the DVR at the beginning of the next segment. “There is, and never will be, anything between me and Derek. He is my boss, and that’s the end of it.”

 

“Maybe you just need to try harder,” Lydia suggested.

 

“Derek may be your boss, but he’s not blind,” Allison added. “It’s obvious how much you like him.”

 

Stiles groaned and buried his face in his knees. “I’m not, like, in love with him, or something. He’s just super hot—even Scott can see how hot he is. And Derek knows what he’s talking about. He’s so much better at his job than Deucalion ever was.” Raising his head, Stiles regarded his friends. “Maybe it’s no a crush. Maybe it’s like a work-related infatuation.”

 

“You mean a crush,” Lydia corrected, making Stiles groan in frustration.

 

“I’m so done talking about this,” he said, snatching the remote out of Cora’s hands and pressing play.

 

The sound of the girls’ laughter drowned out Miss Jay’s first words.

 

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking with me and this little fic. I definitely needed my hiatus, and I think I'm back now. While I was gone, however, I [published my first original m/m story.](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00R1GED90/ref=cm_sw_r_udp_awd_zaXJub1ANHGH6) It's a short Christmas story in time for the holidays. 
> 
> I do plan to have more Sterek on the way soon, though!

The closer they got to opening night, the more pronounced the line between Derek’s eyebrows became. He attended rehearsals almost every day, barking out commands. Jennifer and Cupcake had begun to recede into the background as Derek took the reins on the show. 

Currently, his worry was getting everyone fitted for costumes, and that was always a headache. To make matters more complicated, Derek wanted all his women in tutus and all his men in trousers, unlike the traditional production of La Bayadere. 

One after another, the cast members were called into the dressing room to meet with Derek and their three costume designers. Kate went first, and everyone waiting outside could hear her arguing with Derek about making her dress different from Cora’s. 

Once the principals were finished, Stiles was called inside. He was nervous about being almost-alone with Derek, but the artistic director was all-business. The way he poked and prodded at Stiles while speaking to the seamstress was like he was dealing with a mannequin. He didn’t even look at Stiles until he was saying, “Send Erica in next.” 

Stiles left the room feeling more disappointed than he knew he should. This wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t about his feelings for Derek, but he couldn’t help the weight that settled in his stomach. Maybe he should consider looking for a new company, even if Beacon Ballet did offer him a new contact. 

*

At rehearsals that week, Stiles’ performance could be described as shitty, at best. He kept forgetting the choreography, and when he did remember it, he wasn’t dancing on the beat. While he wasn’t trying to fuck around and lose his job, he just couldn’t think straight with Derek in the room. 

“Cut!” Derek growled and the pianist stopped abruptly. 

The dancers paused, eyes focused on the director stomping across the stage. 

“Stilinski!” he shouted, coming to a stop in front of Stiles. “What the hell is wrong with you? Is there something I should know? Are you on drugs?” 

“No—I—”

“Get out of my sight.” Derek’s tone was low and betrayed his barely-controlled anger. 

Gulping, Stiles turned quickly and walked off the stage. He could feel the eyes of the entire company burning holes into his back. It may have been his imagination, but he swore he could feel Kate’s mocking grin, too. 

Stiles didn’t stop until he was standing outside the building. His vision was clouded with tears and he could feel the tightness in his chest signaling an impending panic attack. Desperate, he gulped at the crisp autumn air in an attempt to calm himself before he really lost it. 

He couldn’t even bring himself to care that he was pacing the sidewalk in his ballet shoes. Never, in the history of his career, had he been asked to leave the stage. As far as he was concerned, this was the death knell of his time with Beacon Ballet. He slid to the ground with a soft whimper. 

It took what felt like an eternity for Stiles to calm down enough to walk back inside. His hands were still shaking. Before heading back up to the dressing room to retrieve his things, he stopped in the bathroom. He looked like shit. 

His eyes were puffy and red from crying and his skin had the sallow look of someone sickly. No wonder he hadn’t been able to concentrate during rehearsal. The production would be better off without him, anyway. 

He splashed some water on his face. It wouldn’t do much, but it made him feel better. 

The walk back to the dressing room felt like a funeral march, but better to slip in and sneak out before everyone finished rehearsing and found him in here. But as Stiles pushed open the door, he found Derek standing in the middle of the room. Waiting for him. 

“Sorry,” Stiles said. His heart was thumping wildly against his ribcage. “I—I’m on my way out—I just had to go to the bathroom first.” 

“Rehearsal’s not over.” Like that wasn’t painfully obvious. 

“I know. I’m going.” He really didn’t need a reminder to get out any faster. 

“Stiles.” Derek sounded exasperated. 

“I’m going!” Stiles said again with more force than necessary. He shouldered past Derek and began throwing things into his into his bag. “Chill out. You don’t need to call security.” 

Derek heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I’m not firing you, Stiles, I just want to talk to you.” 

Stiles paused with a pair of tights in his hand. He threw a look over his shoulder. The relief inside him was at the edge of a cliff, ready to topple him with the exodus of adrenaline from his body. “I’m not fired?”

“Not unless packing your bag means you quit.” 

Hastily, Stiles shoved the pair of tights back into his locker and dropped the bag. “Definitely not quitting.” He sat down on the bench and gave Derek his full attention. If his boss wanted to talk about letting him keep his job, Stiles was all ears. 

Derek sat down on the other end of the bench. “Stiles, what’s going on with you? I get that you’re normally distracted and flighty, but I’ve never seen you so out of it during rehearsal. Is there something going on that I should know about?” 

“No!” Stiles said a little too quickly. “I mean, no, I’m just . . . ” Distracted by you. 

“Don’t say it’s nothing because we both know that’s not true.”  

In his head, Stiles grappled for an answer that Derek would accept. Finally, he settled on, “It’s nerves. I’m really worked up about this production and I want it to go well and I . . . I want to impress you.” 

Derek blinked slowly, green eyes dark and a smile flitting across his lips. “Stiles, when you’re dancing—when you’re dancing with the music, you’re incredible. I would be stupid to cut you this far into the production, even if you are insufferable sometimes. But you have got to get your head out of your ass. If you need therapy or medication or . . . or to get laid, then just do it so we don’t have to have this conversation again. I can’t keep giving you the same corrections. You really do have to keep up with the rest of the company or I will be forced to cut you and that will absolutely break my heart.” 

The tension in Stiles’ chest eased, just a little, and he felt something warm spread through him at hearing Derek’s words. For one thing, he had never heard his new director say so much in one go, and it fanned the little spark of hope that Stiles held, both for his job, and for Derek. 

“I don’t want to break your heart.” As he said those words, he found himself leaning closer to Derek. He was beginning to lose himself in those greenbrownhazel eyes. 

“I don’t want you to, either.” They were inches apart, now. One of Derek’s hands came up to cup Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles’ heartbeat roared in his ears. His eyelids fluttered shut as Derek moved closer, brushing his lips over Stiles’ mouth in the barest hint of a kiss. 

The sound of footsteps in the hallway startled them, and they sprang apart like they’d been burnt. The moment dissipated like wisps of smoke into the air, but Stiles’ lips tingled where Derek had touched them. 

“I want more concentration from you tomorrow, Stiles,” Derek said from his stance across the room as the principals came through the door one after another. They looked from the artistic director to Stiles, each trying to gauge the situation. Stiles silently prayed it looked like they were doing anything but kissing. 

“I’ll be better tomorrow,” Stiles said. He shook his head for emphasis. “I promise.” 

Derek gave a curt nod and walked out of the room. 

The other dancers turned their attention to Stiles, but Lydia was the first to break the silence. “Please tell me you are not on probation.” 

“No.” Stiles shook his head, smiling despite the tension in the air. Nothing could have been better than knowing that Derek had feelings for him, too—or at least that’s what Stiles was telling himself. 

“And you’re not fired?” Scott asked. 

“Do you think I’d be promising Derek not to fuck around tomorrow if he had just fired me? It’s fine, really. I just had an off day.” 

“Watch yourself, Stilinski,” Kate said. The looks he gave him was not friendly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Just watch yourself. Your position in this company isn’t as solid as you think. Derek doesn’t have time to deal with your shit.” 

“Uh huh.” Stiles nodded absently. She had no idea. 

He reached down to pull his ballet shoes off, grimacing at the soles. “Though I’m probably going to have to retire these babies sooner than later.” 

“What did you do?” Scott asked, leaning over to look at them. “Run around the block in them?” 

Stiles barked out a laugh. “Something like that.” 

*

“So what really happened today?” Scott asked later that night when he and Stiles were sprawled out on the couch watching some game show. 

Stiles shrugged one shoulder. “Couldn’t concentrate. I think I need to up my prescription of Adderall, or something. I should probably make an appointment, but I don’t want it to screw with the show.” 

“Not that.” Scott shook his head. He shifted his body so that he could see Stiles better. “I’m talking about after that. With Derek. In the dressing room.” 

“Oh.” Stiles felt his cheeks heat up. “Nothing. I left the stage, and he found me in the dressing room. We pretty much had the same conversation. He asked what was wrong, and I told him that I probably need to get a new prescription. Then you guys showed up.” 

“There’s no way, in the time you were both gone, that that’s all you talked about. Come on, what else happened?”

“Nothing, I told you.” 

“Stiles,” Scott said in a sing-song voice. 

“Scotty,” Stiles repeated in the same tone. 

“Don’t make me guess.” 

“You’ll never guess.” 

“Does it have anything to do with your ruined ballet shoes?” 

“No.” Shaking his head emphatically, Stiles vocalized an additional “Uh uh.” 

“So you managed to have an epic discussion with Derek and ruin your shoes all in one go. Did you run out of the building? Did he chase you?” 

“Yes and no?” Stiles reached for the remote to the television. “Can we not talk about this?” 

Scott sighed. “Just tell me.” 

Stiles let out a long sigh and flipped through the channels without looking at Scott. “I had a panic attack, okay? I thought Derek was going to fire me, but when I went back inside he told me that he was just worried. Then you guys showed up. The end.” 

“You’re being too hard on yourself.” 

“Maybe I need a prescription for Xanax. Who knows. I’m still here. Party on, right?” Stiles forced a smile. He had been feeling really great until now. He hated admitting his weaknesses.

“Party on,” Scott agreed. Thankfully, he didn’t press the issue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I'm @moitness on Tumblr, if you want to come play!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One step closer to the end, ladies and gentlemen. I would suggest holding on to your hats coz this chapter is where the fun starts. ^_^ The tags have been updated to reflect this change.

Since they were so close to showtime, the company only got one day a week off. It was enough to allow them time to rest and recuperate without losing valuable time in the studio.

Like many Sundays, Stiles and Scott had chosen to spend it playing video games. They made sure to stretch and drink plenty of water, lest they have Cupcake on their asses, but for the most part, it was a day of vegging. 

They were playing Call of Duty when Stiles phone rang. 

“Dude, ignore it. It’s our day off,” Scott said. 

Stiles reluctantly set down his controller. “I can’t. It’s the studio.” 

Scott made a face without taking his eyes of the screen. “You have a special ring tone for the studio?” 

“It’s kind of my job,” Stiles muttered. He pressed the answer button on his cell phone. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Stiles? It’s Derek. I know it’s your day off, but I need you to come down to the studio. This won’t take long, I promise.” 

Stiles glanced over at Scott and the television. He was reluctant to leave. This was supposed to be his downtime and they were on a mission that couldn’t be paused. “It can’t wait until tomorrow?” 

“No, I’m sorry.” Derek sounded genuinely apologetic. 

“Fine.” Stiles heaved a sigh. “Give me about fifteen minutes.” He ended the call and slid his phone in his pocket. 

Scott had already lost the mission and was looking at Stiles for an answer. “You’re seriously going down there?”

“What other choice do I have?” Wrapping a scarf around his neck, Stiles gave Scott a tight-lipped smile. “We can start that mission over when I get back. It won’t take long. I’d say 45 minutes tops. Time for me to walk down there, see what Derek wants, and walk back.” 

*

The studio was empty but for the light in Derek’s office when Stiles got there. He knocked on the open door and stepped in. 

Derek looked up. “Have a seat, Stiles.” 

Nervously, he sat. “Am I in trouble?” He looked down at his nails, which he had bitten down on the way there, some to the point of bleeding. 

“No, I just needed to talk to you alone.” Derek scrubbed a hand over his forehead. He stood up and walked around the desk, coming to a stop in front of Stiles. As he leaned back against the desk, his face took on a pinched expression. “This is hard for me.” 

Stiles clenched his jaw and swallowed. “If you’re going to fire me, just do it. Like a bandaid. Don’t make me sweat.” 

Derek sighed. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.” 

Surprised, Stiles drew back. “Really? That’s why you brought me down here? Not a big deal. You could have just left it where it was—nowhere. It didn’t mean anything. We can both ignore it and pretend it never happened.” 

“Yes it is. I’m your boss. I shouldn’t be—coercing you into things.” 

“Coercing me?” Stiles laughed. “Derek, if I could I would—“ he stopped himself before that thought could go any further. 

Derek looked at him from under dark eyelashes. “Would what?” 

Stiles stood up so that they were eye to eye. They were nearly the same height, both ballet dancers with strong legs and graceful hands. Sharing breath. 

“This.” Stiles leaned forward and kissed Derek. It wasn’t anything he had rationally planned, but once he started, he couldn’t stop.

Both of Derek’s hands cupped his face, holding him steady. Their kiss was passionate and fiery. Derek reached around Stiles to sweep the crap off his desk—pens, papers, and a stapler went flying to the floor. He picked Stiles up, spun him around, and set him on the edge of the desk. “I’m going to regret this.” 

“Shh.” Stiles stroked the fabric covering his chest. “No you aren’t.” 

They continued to kiss, their hands groping and anything they could reach. Stiles made a high whining noise in the back of his throat. He hadn’t been this close to a person since before he joined the company. He had a boyfriend before—Matt—and while the sex was good, his career was more important. 

Derek didn’t bother undressing him—he unzipped Stiles’ jeans and pulled his cock out. With one last kiss, he dropped to his knees and started sucking Stiles off right there on the edge of his desk. 

Stiles buried one hand in the thick locks of Derek’s hair. With the other, he braced himself against the desk. When he felt himself getting close, he gave Derek’s hair an insistent tug.

“Derek—Derek—nghh—“

Derek pulled off and jerked him to a finish. “Sorry, I haven’t done that in a while and—“

Even as he was riding the aftershocks of his orgasm, Stiles grabbed Derek by the shirtfront and hauled him to his feet so he could kiss him hard. “Less talking. More blowing.” 

Stiles unwound the scarf from his neck and dropped it on the desk. Pushing Derek out of the way, he dropped to his knees to give him the same treatment. He sucked his boss’ cock into his mouth, working it down his throat. He loved sucking cock. He would rather suck cock than have sex. Something about a man in his mouth—the feeling, the taste, the smell. With a small groan, he buried his nose in Derek’s wiry pubic hair. 

Derek’s own warning was shorter. He tried to pull Stiles off, but Stiles wrapped his hands around Derek’s thighs and swallowed him down. 

Derek’s knees nearly buckled, but he managed to keep himself upright. When he finished, Stiles tucked him neatly back into his pants. He realized his own cock was still hanging out, and he tucked himself away. 

Stiles stood up and kissed Derek again. He wound his hands around Derek’s body and pulled him close. “I want this.”

“I don’t want you to give up your career for me.” 

“Who says I can’t have both?” Stiles spoke with cheek, but Derek was serious. “Just don’t fire me, and we’re good, I guess.” 

“Is that a threat?” Derek’s bushy eyebrows gathered between his eyes.

Stiles’s grip on Derek’s waist loosened. “What? No. Nono of course not. What, do you think I’d blackmail you or something?” 

“Worse things have happened to me.” 

“Forget I said anything. I like my job. I like it here. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“Good.” Derek kissed him one last time. “Now get out of here. Long day tomorrow.” 

Laughing, Stiles went. 

*

Scott was playing FIFA when Stiles got home. “Sorry, dude,” he said, “I got bored waiting for you.” 

“No problem,” Stiles replied, dropping down on the couch. He tried to relax his mouth and not smile too much. It was hard. 

“What did Derek want?” 

Stiles should have spent the walk home thinking of an answer, but instead, he had relived his tryst. “He wanted to run through an idea for my pas de deux with Cora.” 

Scott nodded and accepted the answer. He pressed the start button on his game.

Beside him, Stiles let out a slow breath. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. It was bare, he realized suddenly. He left his scarf on Derek’s desk. Shit. 

*

The next morning, Stiles’ scarf was hanging innocently in his locker at the studio like he’d put it there himself. Blushing furiously, he shoved it into his bag and hoped nobody noticed. He pulled on a pair of leg warmers and headed out to the floor. 

Derek hardly looked at him, let alone spoke two words to him during the technique class. Stiles told himself it didn’t matter and that Derek was just trying to keep what they had a secret from the rest of the company. 

It didn’t make Stiles feel any better when Derek used both hands to correct Kate’s posture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! If you enjoyed it, please let me know in the comments section below. 
> 
> @moitmiller on Tumblr, fellas


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